Loving Lucy
by boring the goose
Summary: I'm looking for my father," I say softly, pointing to his face in the crumpled picture. "Percy Weasley. Can you help me?" The woman stutters. "Percy Weasley only has one daughter--" "That he knows of."
1. Prologue

**Loving Lucy**

_Description: "I'm looking for my father," I say softly, pointing to the picture. "Percy Weasley. Can you help me?" "Percy Weasley only has one daughter--" "That he knows of."_

_Disclaimer: Lucy intrigues me, more so than any other next generation character. However, she's not mine._

**Prologue**

It's dark. Dark and cold. Even while clutching my mother's hand, there is not comfort to be found in this place. I feel so small, so insignificant next to the enormous statues of war heroes passed. Mum had told me about this place; that this is a place of light that keeps the rest of the world from falling into darkness. I don't think I believe her anymore.

Mum goes to the information desk, and asks for Percy Weasley. I know who he is; Mum has told me a lot about him. How sweet he is, how smart and caring. How he was in the Battle of Hogwarts and helped fight off the Death Eaters that attacked the school. I knew, from the smile on her face as she spoke of him, that she loved Percy Weasley. She always had.

The lady at the information desk is fat and angry looking. She says that Percy Weasley is busy at the moment, can she leave him a note? Mum shakes her head, and asks if she could be directed to his office; she would wait outside for him. The witch mumbles grumpily that Mr. Weasley is a very busy man, not to be trifled with by single moms looking for charity. Mum never loses her cool once, informing the information witch that she is Healer Penelope Clearwater, thank you very much, and has no interest in the Weasley fortune. The woman, horribly embarrassed, gives Mum very specific directions as to where Mr. Weasley's office might be. Mum smiles sweetly, thanking the woman. We share a conspiratorial giggle as we walk down to the office.

After a long elevator ride and an even longer walk, we reach a big door that says "Percy Weasley; Senior Advisor to the Minister". I tell this to Mum, and she smiles encouragingly. I am the most advanced reader in my class.

After a couple of minutes of waiting, I sit down on the floor. I don't know why Mum brought me here anyway. Sure, it'd be cool to meet a war hero, but why? Why? That's the question, isn't it? Mum is pacing back and forth nervously. She continues for the rest of our wait. Half an hour. One hour. Two hours. Finally, she sits down next to me, looking overly anxious about something or other. I'm ready to ask if we can leave when someone finally exits the office.

It's a woman, blonde hair, brown eyes, insanely beautiful, whose face is covered in tear stains. She looks left, right, then left again, as if she didn't know where she was. She moves her hands to touch her stomach, then starts crying again. I don't know what to make of it until she is followed out of the office by a man that could only be Percy Weasley.

I hear my Mum's breath catch, and, unthinkingly, mine does too. He has orange hair and red glasses and blue eyes. Just looking a him, I feel at home. But as he runs after the crying blonde, my feelings change. They go from joy, to anger, to sadness as he pulls the woman into a warm embrace. He whispers to her lovingly. He tells her something that makes her smile through her tears. He kisses her cheek, then her neck, then her lips. I don't look at my mother; I've seen her heart break before. I take her hand, and pull her away from the scene in front of us. Backwards through the Ministry, out to the London air. She hardly registers any movement. I pay for the train tickets, and make sure we get off at the right stop. It isn't until we're in front of our house that I speak.

"Don't worry, Momma, you still have me."

She looks down at me then, and smiles. "That's right Lucy," she says softly. "I still have you."

--

_Author's Note: Obviously, this story is not completely canon. However, it's not un-canon enough to be considered AU either. Give me your thoughts. _


	2. Introductions

_Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Weasley._

**Introductions**

The Ministry of Magic is just how I remember it. That is to say, horrible. I pull my jacket closer to my body. No one really notices me, and those who do just shrug it off. A thirteen year old girl dressed in Muggle clothing is not something the ministry workers care about immensely. Of course, had my mother been with me, they would be singing a different tune entirely. They would smile and introduce themselves curtiously, working the angles to look good in my mother's eyes. But, for obvious reasons, my mother isn't here with me.

I walk to the information desk.

"Can you tell me where I might find Hermione Weasley's office?" I ask, trying to sound slightly confidant in my request.

The wizard working the desk eyes at me speculatively. I really don't blame him. My curly birds-nest black hair makes me look like I'd just rolled out of bed. That, coupled with my second-hand Muggle clothes, crumpled from the various means of transportation I took to get here, probably gives off the impression that is distinctly _homeless. _However, he manages to remain professional as he begins the questionnaire Mum had always complained about. "Name?"

"Lucille Sarah Clearwater."

He looks a bit shocked at this admission. "Clearwater, as in Healer Penelope Clearwater?"

I don't roll my eyes, although in times previously I would have. People seemed surprised that someone as classy and sophisticated as my mother could produce me as her offspring. "Yes. She's my mother."

He gives me a once over, then smiles sadly. "I'm very sorry. She was a wonderful woman. She actually took care of my wife a couple years back. She was the most honest healer I've ever encountered...always straight forward, she was...even when when she told us to expect the worst..."

Of course, I already know this about my mother. Not only have I witnessed it for myself, but I have been reminded multiple times of it by her former patients. I wonder, idly, if he realizes how much time he is wasting with this little tangent of his. After a full minute of praising my mother's honesty and skill as I healer, I decide to cut his speech short. "Thank you for your concern," I say as politely as possible. "I'm sure my mother appreciates it. But could we continue..."

He coughs, startled by both my abrupt change in topic and his own nonsensical rambling. "Yes, of course. What exactly is your reason for visiting Mrs. Weasley today?"

"Family troubles. Someone told me that she might be able to help."

"Is she expecting you?"

She is expecting a twenty-something year old woman with inheritance issues who just happens to be named Lucille Clearwater. I force back a smirk. "Yes."

"May I please see your wand?"

I pull my wand from my back pocket and give it to him. Mahogany and Dragon-Heartstring. Thirteen inches in length. After a minute's worth of analysis, he hands it back and directs me to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I thank him profusely, forgetting his earlier mishap, before going to meet my aunt for the first time.

The lift in the Ministry scares me; more so, even, than the ministry itself. There is a clang after every movement; it seems, as Muggle elevators improve, the ones that are wizard-made feel old and unreliable by comparison. The metal walls are rusty, and each wizard and witch that entered has the same, dead-tired face they won't reveal outside of the lift. The walls close in around me, and, as if there is a plastic bag over my head, I can't breathe. By the time the lift finally reaches the proper floor, I want to scream in relief. However, going for the more subtle reaction to unrelenting fear, I simply take a deep breath of air and continue on.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is on the fifth floor of the Ministry. It is one of the larger departments, and therefore gets an entire level to itself. If the Information Wizard is to be trusted, I have to pass six offices before reaching the abode of Mrs. Granger Weasley. I do my best to get there as quickly as possible, skirting around any of the open doors. While I technically have every right to be here, I feel like some sort of Muggle spy. Except James never had to face a floor of fully-trained wizards.

I arrive at her door, and my mind instantly flashes back eight years. It is absolutely identical to the door of Percy Weasley, save for the name. Same glossy finish, same appearance of foreboding. Hopefully, this meeting will turn out more successful than the last.

I knock twice, and wait.

A few seconds pass, and I'm about to knock again when a seventy-something redhead with a bit of a potbelly comes up behind me. I jump out of my skin, thinking it's him. _Not now. _I think desperately. _Not like this._ But upon closer inspection, I realize he isn't my father. Somewhere in the back of my head, I realize he's too old to be my father, and that not all of the redheads working at the Ministry that are Senior Advisor to the Minister.

Oblivious to my strange behavior, he nods toward the door. "You looking for Hermione Weasley?"

I nod, too relieved to speak coherently.

"Then you're out of luck," he said shortly. "She went away on yesterday. She won't be back for over a week."

He watches as my face falls. Hermione wasn't my last chance at meeting my father, certainly, but she was my best. If I don't talk to _someone, _I'll have wasted an entire afternoon that I could be spending with my mother. A whole three hours which I could have spent talking to her. Laughing with her. Watching her as she recovered from the illness that had all the Healers at St. Mungo's fooled. Simply _being _with her as she got better. Or worse.

His voice breaks my train of thought. "I'm Arthur Weasley. I'm Hermione's father-in-law. I might not be exactly who you're looking for, but I have a free afternoon and I'll do my best to help?" His voice is kind, and I instantly trust him. I nod slightly. He doesn't touch me, but leads me back towards the lift. I repress a shudder as he presses the up button on the wall next to the shaft.

I wonder brefly why he was so kind to me. Surely he doesn't have an obligation to all of his daughter-in-law's clientèle. It probably had something to do with the way I dressed. That, or my age. There probably aren't many thirteen year old half-bloods roaming the Ministry corridors. He smiles down at me before staring at the doors once more. He is a generous man. But I can't make myself think of him as my grandfather.

The lift comes and I suck in a breath. Mr. Weasley notices this, but doesn't say anything. I'm grateful for this, as I can't reply to him, even if I wanted to. The lift arrives at the third floor and he places a gentle hand on my shoulder to tell me we're leaving. I don't need to be told twice.

Mr. Weasley leads me to a room labeled the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. He unlocks the door and holds it open for me.

The office is nothing like the Ministry outside. It is warm and comforting; the walls plastered with family pictures. I try not to look too interested as I scan the crowd of orange-haired wizards. Percy Weasley's face was only present once or twice, while the rest of the family appeared six or seven times throughout the collage. There were also repeated pictures of three teenagers, and their young adult counterparts. There was a lanky redhead—obviously one of Mr. Weasley's other sons—sidled with a spectacled boy and a girl with bushy brown hair. I allow myself a little bit of awe here.

Softly, I ask, "Is that..."

He doesn't let me complete my question, probably because he's been asked it so many times. "Yes. That's them; my son Ron, his wife Hermione, and their friend Harry."

I shake my head. "Your son is in the the Golden Trio?"

Mr. Weasley grins at my comment. "Is that what they're called now? They've had so many names over the years; it's hard to keep track."

I nod, then point at one of the other pictures at random. I can't afford to be star-struck for much longer. The frame is completely packed; every inch of it is filled with fiery red hair. "This is your family?"

His grin grows wider. "How could you tell?" He pulls it off the wall and beckons me closer. "This is my wife, Molly. This is my oldest, Bill, and his wife and their three kids. His son Louis is about your age. There's Charlie, and George..." Each person waves as he points them out. I smile. I've never been anything but an only child; I'd never had anyone but Mum and the few friends weird enough to take me in. It's comforting that there are people out there that have so many people to love. Even if Percy accepts me, even if his family accepts me, I will never have that.

After making his way through the entire picture, Mr. Weasley remembers why we are here. Turning a charming shade of puce, he turns to me. "So, why were you coming to see Hermione today? Her office doesn't generally deal with kids your age."

I frown a bit. Without thinking, I murmur, "I'm thirteen."

Mr. Weasley nods kindly. "My mistake. Thirteen. But really, what are you doing in a stuffy Ministry office when you should be outside enjoying the summer?"

I don't know what to tell him. I couldn't answer him honestly without telling him the entire story, but that could take hours. I glance around the office, looking for some sort of clue of what to do. The smiling faces of my unknowing family do nothing to encourage me. Desperately, I search the room until I am once again staring into the warm blue eyes of my father's father. They aren't judging, or demanding, or anything at all really. They are just there.

I take a deep breath and begin.

"My name is Lucille Clearwater, but everyone calls me Lucy. My mother, a Healer at St. Mungo's, is dying of a incurable Muggle disease. My grandparents passed away when I was seven, and I believe your son, Percy Weasley, is my father."

--

_Author's Notes: I have a question for you, if you'd be so kind as to click on that little green box down there. Could you see Percy cheating on his wife? I obviously can, hence this story, but some of you may hold him in a higher esteem than I do._


End file.
